“Step out the front door like a ghostinto the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white, and in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right. I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again where? I don't know.”
“I'm in between the moon and where you are. I know ... I can't be far.”
“and addressed them thus: “I presume you know the difference between front and back, right hand and left hand?”
“Where we are going, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the place that is important but the steps in between.”
“I love to dance between the purple valley and white corner moon...”
“He's got hands so long and white and dainty I think they carved each other out of soap, and sometimes they get loose and glide around in front of him free as two white birds until he notices them and traps them between his knees; it bothers him that he's got pretty hands.”